When things change
by ThyWolfQueen
Summary: A little series of Johnlock-Oneshots, later there may be a little bit of Mystrade as well - you guys got me to like it :)
1. Home, Part 1

The idea for this oneshot - my first fanfiction by the way - came from two songtext lines, in ine hand from Green Day's 'Viva La Gloria' "There is no place like home when you got no place to go" and on the other hand out of ASP's 'The Little Big Man' the line "They say that home is where there's someone waiting, waiting for you" - I wanted just to tell that^^

I'd be glad if you tell me what you think about this - and about grammatical mistakes I might have made (I'm from Germany).

Now I stop talking ;) Hope, you enjoy it :)

* * *

"Come on, Sherlock, let's go." John stepped next to his friend. They were standing in front of an old house where Sherlock had just solved a case. It had taken him only a couple of minutes to figure out what had happened. Lestrade was happy - but he himself was kind of depressed. From his point of view the short time it had taken him was no sign of his genius but proofed once more the stupidity of Scotland Yard. They had been forced to call him for something this simple because they were too dumb to solve it on their own.

"Hey, Sherlock, let's go home," John repeated, and Sherlock nodded, still wondering how long it would take Lestrade to learn solving this kind of cases on his own.

They walked in silence. Once or twice the doctor tried to start a conversation, but Sherlock didn't answer.

His thoughts circled around one word. _Home._ For the first time in his whole life he understood the meaning of this word. Their flat had become a home for him. A home, not just a flat.

He never had such a place, never had something like a home. Not during his childhood and youth when he lived with his parents and Mycroft in a little house. In those times he used to be out as long and as often as possible. He had spent hours sitting in a park or on a bench in the streets watching the people pass by. He'd started to play some kind of game with them. He'd started to observe and to analyze them. That had always been a bit of fun.

Later the places he lived had always been just some rooms where he could eat and sleep - if he did this at all. They had never been homes to him. And he'd been lonely in those times. He had started using cocaine. It had been his only friend, if you can call a drug a friend.

The two men went up the stairs to 221b and when John closed the door behind them and started making tea, Sherlock finally realized that it was not the messy flat itself that made him feel at home, it was John who made the flat a home.

Sherlock turned around. He could see him in the kitchen where he stood near the table waiting for the water to boil. And without really knowing what he was doing Sherlock went over to him and kissed him. The only thing that surprised him more than his own action was John, who just put his arms around the detective's neck and kissed him back.


	2. Home, Part 2

I felt like rewriting this story from John's angle... it's longer than the first one... weird oO :D

Hope, you like it^^

* * *

"Come on, Sherlock, let's go." John stepped next to the only consulting detective in the world. His friend didn't react so the doctor just stood watching him for a couple of moments.

The stormcoloured eyes stared into nothingness. Probably he was deep in his thoughts, John suspected that he was annoyed about Lestrade ( and the police in general ) because they had to call him for what seemed like an easy case to him. John understood his point - even he had been able to figure out more than the DI. But maybe you had to learn this if you were living in one flat with the famous Sherlock Holmes.

The tall man's dark hair was curly as always and the ex-soldier found himself wondering how it would feel between his fingers.

He'd gotten used to that kind of thoughts during the last months. Even if he - when asked - always claimed not to think about his flatmate like this he'd stopped lying to himself. Since the day Sherlock has lost his bed sheet in the BuckinghamPalace he saw his friend in an different light.

Or maybe just from a different angle...

He definitely didn't want to think about that now.

"Hey, Sherlock, let's go home:" He repeated, finally reaching into the other man's thoughts. Sherlock nodded absently and they started their way back to 221b.

"Have you heard news about Irene Adler lately?" John asked, curious if his friend knew anything about _the_ woman that was new to him. But his friend didn't answer. That was something he'd gotten used to. Sherlock didn't always answer. He might not even always hear you.

The doctor didn't ask again, it was useless. He knew the dreamy look in the detective's eyes. Sherlock was completely unaware of the world surrounding him. John could do anything without his flatmate noticing it.

Okay, maybe he would notice if he kissed him, but he definitely would _not_ do this. Their friendship was more worth than anything else and he would rather die than risk it. And a kiss _would_ be a risk, he was pretty sure that Sherlock wouldn't be amused if he'd know his thoughts.

He looked at the tall, elegant figure next to him, so focused on the man in the coat that he was close to running against a streetlamp. Grinning to himself he was for once glad Sherlock didn't notice anything at all.

"By the way, is there still that head in the fridge?" He made another useless attempt to talk to his friend. That was something else he'd gotten kind of used to. The body parts in the fridge. Heads, fingers, the detective tended to place all kinds of flesh in there for reasons John didn't understood. He smiled, knowing that he'd miss something if they weren't there.

They entered 221b and he closed the door.

Sherlock just stood in the middle of their living room, still wearing shoes and coat, doing nothing.

With a sigh John went over to the kitchen and decided to make tea. Being just there he also looked in the fridge. Yes, that head was still there. He wondered what Sherlock wanted with that thing - surely some kind of experiment - while he waited for the water to boil.

Suddenly his friend entered the kitchen without saying a word. He headed directly for John who was curious what the other one wanted.

But he hadn't expected_ this_.

He kissed him. Obviously John had been wrong when he thought his friend would probably kill him for kissing him.

But he wouldn't complain - of course not. With a smile he put his arms around Sherlock's neck and kissed him back.


	3. Freak

I decided to make this oneshot a series of little oneshots, and here is the first update :) And still - please tell me about grammatical mistakes I might have made ;)

* * *

"So, you see, just a dull little murder out of jealousy." Sherlock ended his monologue, leaving the whole Scotland Yard plus John staring at him. As always.

"Awesome." John breathed unconsciously. Sherlock smiled and put his scarf back on, that had been laying on the passenger seat of Lestrade's car. As rare as it was, the sun had come out a couple of minutes ago and it had actually been a little warm.

He closed his coat and looked down on the victim once more. It was a petite woman in her early twenties, red haired and stabbed to death.

Obviously murdered by her jealous boyfriend, as Sherlock had just pointed out. The only consulting detective in the world looked like always, all mysterious with this long black coat, with his pale skin, the sharp cheekbones and those colour changing eyes, sometimes blue, sometimes grey or even green with a tendency to yellow.

After a short "Well, thank you" from Lestrade he turned his back to the Di and walked away from the crime scene. John hurried to follow him like he always did.

He heard Sally Donovan behind them, hissing "freak". The ex-soldier fought the impulse to turn around and punch her in the face for that. He knew, he should have gotten used to the insults, she and Anderson expressed so often towards his friend, but it was impossible to him.

Just because they were to dull to see his brilliance, they hadn't the right to say such things. He had to tolerate Sherlock running around mocking about the low IQ of next to everybody - but at least Sherlock _was_ more intelligent than everyone else.

He didn't knew if Sherlock had heard the insult this time but if he had, John knew, it would have hurt him. The self-claimed sociopath was great at pretending he didn't care about it, but he knew better. He could tell it from the way Sherlock's jaw clenched, whenever he heard Donovan and Anderson talking like that, from the way he was even more rude to everyone in those situations.

John might be bad at deductions, but he could read Sherlock after such a time. He knew, that his friend cared about other people, even if it doesn't seemed so. It had for example shown, when this American had hit Mrs. Hudson or when Mycroft had been rude to her. It had shown, when he had excused for ruining Molly's Christmas and in his look, when he had seen John with the explosives next to the swimming pool. Sherlock Holmes DID care, but he was great at not showing it too much.

"Oh, those two!" John heard the tall genius - obviously he'd heard Sgt. Donovan's comment. "How are they able to live with such tiny brains?"

"I'm able to live on my own as well - and in contrary to you." John tried to joke, but his friend didn't even smile.

"You're not as stupid as they are!" Sherlock told him and from him it was the closest thing to a compliment, he ever said.

They left the little park the murder had been committed in and the younger man hailed a cab. They got into it and John looked at his friend.

"You haven't eaten for days again, how about having lunch somewhere?"

He was surprised when Sherlock nodded without any struggling. His friend stared out the window, but he could see the shade of sadness on his face.

"Everything's alright?" He asked and the dark haired man shot him a look.

"I'm _fine_." He snarled.

The cad stopped in front of a little restaurant and the two men went in. They sat down in a corner near the door and ordered pizza.

About half an hour passed in silence, both were concentrated on their food, even Sherlock ate more than the usual one or two bites.

Then the door opened and John heard first a woman giggle and second the voice of... Anderson.

"Look, Sally, the freak's actually eating!"

John didn't know what he was doing, the next thing he knew was, that he stood in front of Anderson, grabbing the collar of his shirt shoving him against the nearest wall.

"Don't dare talking about him like this ever again!" He growled before turning his head to Donovan. "Same goes for you!"

His eyes went back to Anderson. "Stop this or you'll have to deal with me."

"So, why exactly should I fear that?" Anderson asked, obviously unable to see John's growing anger.

The ex-soldier's answer was a neat little punch in the face that made Anderson's nose bleed and Donovan scream.

John let go of Anderson and all calm he turned back to Sherlock who was staring at him in surprise.

"Come on, I don't want to stay here." He threw some money on the table, grabbed the wrist of his still immobile best friend and left the restaurant.

He was too angry to wait for a cab, so he just kept walking down the street, dragging Sherlock with him. The consulting detective was unusual quiet, since the encounter with Anderson he hadn't said a word.

A couple of streets later John stopped, leaning against a wall to calm down.

"Why did you do that?" Sherlock asked quietly.

The doctor looked at him irritated. "He insulted you." Wasn't that logical? Of course he wouldn't let anyone hurt his friend without consequences.

"You didn't have to do that." Sherlock looked sad, sadder than he'd ever shown to be.

"Of course I had to. You're my friend." He put straight.

"Thanks." Said friend murmured, raising his wrist, which the doctor still embraced, to his mouth and planted a little kiss on the other man's hand.

John stared at him in surprise. "What was that for?" He asked confused.

Sherlock smiled, the sadness had vanished from one moment to the next.

"I love you, John."

John stared at him for a second or two. The famous Sherlock Holmes _loved_ him? The man who always called love a 'dangerous disadvantage'? A 'chemical defect, found on the losing side'? Could that be possible?

If his smile and the look in his eyes were anything to go by, it could. A wide smile spread over the doctor's face.

"I love you too, Sherlock."


End file.
